Ottawa re-imagined

In preparations to go to Tanzania for 6 months, most of the questions I fielded consisted of
"Is there Ebola there?" and
"Are you sure it's really safe to go to Africa right now?"

I usually put on a smile (or smirk for some) and reassured them that everything would be fine and that I was more likely to get Ebola in Vancouver or Texas than in East Africa.

Little did I know that the safety issues would present themselves in Ottawa!

I have to admit, when I imagined Ottawa I thought that everyone would be very formal and speak kindly of Stephen Harper. Fortunately I was wrong, on both counts.

My visit to Ottawa was interesting starting right out of the gate. I walked up to the taxi stand at 9:30pm and my imagination had told me that perhaps the taxi drivers would all be wearing tails and speak in British accents (I don't know why - just humour me). What I got was more like a movie scene of a "drive-by". All the airport taxi's in Ottawa are black Ford Taurus and mine swayed so much on the road that I am certain it was equipped with hydraulics. At one point it bounced to and fro so much that I was re-living the choppy seas of the Hong Kong ferries between Lamma Island and Central. I prayed that my inner ear problems would not kick in and cause unrelenting dizziness for the weeks to follow. To add mystery to this low-rider swaying Taurus, the taxi driver wore a black hooded sweatshirt and he never once pushed the hood down so that I could see even the side of his face.
We raced through the streets of Ottawa and I kept glancing out the window, expecting either movie cameras or a high speed chase. We screeched up to the hotel in downtown Ottawa and the driver quickly and silently got all my bags out of the car. I hadn't heard him utter a word and hadn't actually yet seen his face, but just as he dropped the last bag in front of the door, he turned to me and gave me a very friendly welcome to Ottawa. Turned out he was just a big teddy bear of a man who wears hoodies and drives a crappy car...

Then, just getting into the hotel with my bags turned into an obstacle course. I retrieved one of those fancy looking baggage carts that one sees in movies (we went camping when I was a kid, none of this hotel stuff) and loaded my bags outside the doors. Getting in the door was a challenge. The baggage cart had worse steering capacity than a hospital stretcher so moving it towards the door felt like I was wrangling a bull. I found the handicap button dangling from its wires on the doorpost and prayed I wouldn't get electrocuted! I managed to manoeuvre the cart inside of the first door, but much to my surprise, the handicap button doesn't open both doors; no that would be too simple. I find the second handicap button and the second (inner) door starts opening, but the luggage cart is in the way. So, I start backing it up through the first (outer) door, but by that time, that door had started shutting. So, I'm being hit in the behind by the first door and the second door is slamming my luggage around while I am desperately trying to steer the cart *anywhere* but through the doors!  The hotel staff were just watching blankly - they didn't even crack a smile! At least get a laugh out of it! I felt like I was on "Just for laughs"!

Fortunately, my humorous calamities ended there, for the day.

Ottawa re-imagined.

I spent a few days at the Care office, learning the ins & outs of what they do and what I would need to know before departing for Tanzania. On Wednesday morning, I had a Safety & Security briefing about living and working in East Africa. We talked about using safety measures, being aware of surroundings, vehicles to use and not to use, and the general reassurance that Tanzania was a welcoming and safe country to live and work in.

I was then in a presentation on some recent work done at the UN regarding refugee rights when my back pocket started buzzing. Since I rarely get texts during the day, I discreetly checked my phone under the table. My brother had texted "There's been a shooting at the Parliament. Are you okay?"
I texted back that I was fine and would check in later. When the meeting ended 10 minutes later, I broke the news to my new colleagues and the TV was quickly turned on to check the news.

Not having to actually enact security measures in Canada, the staff quickly went to work contacting all the colleagues who were in meetings in downtown buildings. Afternoon meetings were cancelled as the police asked people to not come downtown and news of additional possible shootings were reported. While there was a palpable buzz in the office, people still continued to work on their projects and deadlines.

Realizing that my hotel was just a few blocks from the first shooting, the staff quickly found me an alternate hotel room since it was not known if I would be safe or allowed to get back there on Wednesday evening.

Then, just as things were settling down, the lights went out and all the power shut down. A backup generator kept the Internet connection going for another 30 minutes or so, but it was a bit eerie that whilst watching play by plays of a possible terrorist attack downtown, we lose all power to the building. It turns out it was a coincidental loss of power from the provincial power grid, but added a level of eerie stress to the day. Since the NGO world runs off emails, no one could really continue their work for the day. One of my colleagues drove me to my new hotel. Which is where the humour comes back to my trip.

We approached the hotel from one side but the building said "Embassy Senior Living" on the side of the building. We looped around the block and approached it from the other side where it said "Embassy Hotel and Suites". Google maps was telling us that this *was* the place. I went inside and found the lobby filled with 80 year olds leaning on their walkers, watching the news unfolding. I inquisitively asked the front desk staff, "Is this a hotel or a seniors home?" and he sheepishly answered "Both."  I let my colleague know that all was clear and I checked myself in to this curious hotel. Turns out they are transitioning it from a hotel to a Seniors home and that only one floor was left of hotel rooms.

I used the elevator to go up to my room and found a daily schedule of activities for bingo and crafts. I had missed all the good stuff! My room was newly renovated; with grab bars, shower seats, and call bells next to the toilet. I guess if I ran out of toilet paper, I had a direct line to the hotel lobby - all from the porcelain throne. The TV didn't work and they didn't provide any knitting needles, so I headed over to the mall across the street, which my colleague had described as the "Seniors mall."

And indeed it was. Among the stores tailored to "comfortable clothing", orthopedic shoes, and cheap coffee, there were the daily stalls set up by retired couples selling their homemade terry cloth baby bibs and jams. One woman was sewing away at her table while her husband waited expectantly for customers. Another woman didn't even look up from knitting dishcloths to notice me walk by. (Maybe she waits for the squeak of supportive shoes). I did manage to find a cheap charger for my phone as all "Seniors malls" come equipped with dollar stores!

The only place I could see to eat was named "Monkey" something and I just really hoped it was not a strip club or a Hooters copycat. I was relieved to find fully clothed people and some regulars sitting at the bar. And of course the news was on and we all stared and sipped our drinks while wondering how such a thing could have happened in Canada.

I finally returned to my new seniors home and checked the latest police updates. They had determined that there were not multiple people involved and they had decreased the lock down zone to a small perimeter. I called the Security contact and asked permission to go back to my downtown hotel. Who would think that I would have to follow security protocol in Canada?

Ottawa, re-imagined.

My visit to Thursday's Question Period was cancelled and my MP sent an email apologizing for Parliament being closed (that is so Canadian!). So,  I didn't get to witness politicians shouting at each other, but I believe I was able to witness something so much better.

I have told friends that I don't always want to be with them only when things go well. I want to be with them in their pain and their heartache so that I might know the fullness of their life and share in their suffering.

While I was only able to see Parliament from a distance, I truly believe that I was in Ottawa for a much more powerful time. I was able to be here with people in their pain, I was in the capital when Canada was mourning for its loss of innocence, I was present for the fullness of a heartfelt response by thousands of Canadians.

I walked by the War Memorial each day - while it was still a crime scene and when it turned into a *true* memorial site. Seeing soldiers standing guard not only for the unnamed soldier, but for the innocent man who lost his life, was incredibly moving. I saw hundreds of people bringing flowers, mementos, letters, but also themeselves, to honour the life one someone they had never met.

I saw Canadians offering to buy police officers coffee and lunch. I saw Canadians having respectful interviews with Imams who came, too, to offer their condolences. I saw news reporters, standing for hours in the same spot, never take a break so that Canadians might stay up to date.

Fortunately, this is a part of Canada that I didn't have to "re-imagine" because it felt like I was home.